September 16, 2012

poem 327 of a poem a day for 2012

apple orchard sanitation

there is an elation
when we remove iron
for wings
for thoughts on string
for what finds the marrow
for when we sing
for birds
for songs
at those infinite bisects
of highways and desire
through the cities
on our way home

this used to be pioneer land
but too many hands
were too willing
to sell too many hands
said the trees
when will you die
when will you extract
every stardust memory
of coal and oil
in the fruits
that fall
to the bottom
of me

when will you stop
writing on the cave walls
when will you stop
the spoils
the buckle asphalt
when you will start
the streetlight blinking
everyone in a homo gestalt peer
into the dark of humanity
when will you notice
the moments you all ride in
are whirring rubber ghosts
against the road and
into the spaces between
the combustion of molecules
and the lean of getting home
when everyone is in
Sunday night TV land

and those hands
that fill the silence beneath
the commercials between
the paid segmentation 
and your sleep cycle
are what the sponsors need you
to dream about with the sirens on
constantly in the background
and the waver decisions
of radio control frequencies
arriving at the snap whip
speed of sound
are what you try to ignore
the words for 
this is when 
the music makes it easy
to be more invisible
than your breathe
at 59 degrees

under a high-tension wire hum
we hear all the ways
we take to our masks 
with crickets strumming
Autumn into the middle
of September
this is how we wave
goodbye to another Summer
while we bleed 
through the long shadows


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